bar

The Old Jokes Bar

Shelter from the cold north wind...

It is, once again, a cold and stormy night over at the Old Jokes Bar. A Witticism cycles up with his French counterpart, a Bon Mot, and they both chain their bikes to the fence, and enter through the reliable oak door into the warmth inside.

Walking up to the barman, they are about to order their usual, a grin and tonic, when Witticism notices the grimace on the aforementioned barman's face.
"So, er... how's life treating you?" asked Witticism. Not waiting for an answer, he continued, "Any regulars in, tonight?" The barman grunted and nodded to the corner table.

At the table sat some incredibly old jokes. There was Whydidthechickencrosstheroad talking to Doctori'veswallowedarolloffilm next to the twins, Thereweretwooldmenindeckchairs. From their gesturing, Witticism could tell they were reminicising about better times. Witticism and Bon Mot drew up some stools, which disturbed their small talk.

"How's it going?" asked Witticism. There was a palpable sense of unease. "Well, word has it that the barman's going to close this pub for good this very night." whispered Doctori'veswa-llowedarolloffilm, "And it's going to be replaced by a surreal wine bar." "I hear that's all the rage among the youngsters today." sniffed Oneoldmanindeckchair, "Who needs jokes when they can just talk about 'bananas' and 'cheese'?"

"Ah, they can just shove it up their arse!" ejaculated some Coarse Innuendo, making his presence felt. "Look!" squeaked Doctori'veswallowedarolloffilm, "If you haven't got anything useful to say, then please be quiet. Have a drink, or something." "Okay! I'll have a large stiff one down my throat please, barman!" The barman rolled his eyes then put them back in.
Whydidthechickencrosstheroad sighed. "Why did we ever pretend to like that guy?"

Just then, another joke popped her head around the toilet door. "I'm a running gag!" she giggled before closing the door again.

"Phew! Zey are all in tonight, no?" said Bon Mot. "Well, that's how I feel - all-in!" uttered the normally serene barman. All the jokes turned round, surprised. "Yes, yes, you heard me. And it's true - eleven tonight and I'm shutting the reliable oak door for good." The jokes gasped as one.

"How could you do such a thing?" gasped Oneoldmanindeckchair. "You lot have given this bar a bad name!" retorted the barman. Witticism gulped. "You mean you don't like the 'BIG WOBBLY BUTTOCK PUB'?" "I liked it..." gurgled Coarse Innuendo, but as usual, he was ignored.

Just then an In-joke walked in. Striding up to the bar he tried to order a drink, but no-one could understand him. Dejected and introverted, he turned and walked back out into the storm. "You see?" cried Whydidthechickencrosstheroad, "This place attracts a diverse clientele! You can't just close it!" "Just watch." said the barman just pointing at his watch, which showed 10:58pm. The toilet door creaked open. "I'm a running gag!" chuckled the girl inside, before shutting it again.

"Well, I suppose that's it then." groaned Witticism. "I suppose this goes back to last week when there was that brawl behind the skips..." Oneoldmanindeckchair interrupted, "Well, what could we do against those rowdy punchlines? We're only feedlines, after all." Muttering, he nursed a black eye which no-one had noticed before, but had only appeared to prove his story.

The barman rang the bell. "Leave gentlemen, please!" he shouted subverting the norm. The jokes sadly got up, reaching for their coats. The reliable oak door opened for the last time, revealing the rain lashing down as lightning streaked the sky. They were ushered out the door by the barman. "But I'm a running gag!" pleaded the girl, but they soon all found themselves out in the storm.

"What now?" asked Bon Mot. There was a pause. Doctori'veswallowedarolloffilm, Whydidth-echickencrosstheroad and Thereweretwooldmenindeckchairs huddled together for warmth and a sense of comradeship. "We'll be off to the BBC. They've always welcomed us." They walked slowly away, but suddenly Whydidthechickencrosstheroad broke off and turned around. "Catch us in a repeat!" he yelled over the thunder, but the wind whipped his words away.

"Well, I'll be coming back here next week!" grinned Coarse Innuendo. "This new bar may be full of surreal humour, but they'll always find themselves coming back to me!" he chuckled. Turning the collar of his stained-raincoat up, he trudged away.

"And what of you, Bon -" started Witticism, but before he could finish, he noticed Bon Mot arm-in-arm with the girl. Bon Mot lifted her onto his saddle, and they both cycled away, laughing. "I'm a running gag!" cried the girl, happily.

Witticism found himself alone in the storm. Hearing a sound behind him, he turned to see the barman nailing a sign to the reliable oak door, then quickly dash back inside. He looked over to find it read: 'THE OLD JOKES BAR - NO LONGER PLAYED FOR LAUGHS.'

Witticism stood stoically on the cold empty street, feeling abused but not used. He looked skywards as the rain splashed on his face and streamed down his cheeks.